


Kiss With A Fist

by Casseopeia



Series: Product of Choice [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Past Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29726280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casseopeia/pseuds/Casseopeia
Summary: Breaking up a back alley brawl draws Malcolm Reed into a relationship with the troubled and violent Lieutenant Zephram Turner. Her struggle to come to terms with her past risks costing them both their future.
Relationships: Malcolm Reed/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Product of Choice [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2184711
Kudos: 2





	Kiss With A Fist

**Author's Note:**

> A kick to the teeth is good for some  
> A kiss with a fist is better than none
> 
> Florence + the Machine

The first time Malcolm meets Zephram it's in a dingy little bar, just after the final crew selection for Enterprise has been announced. God alone knows why this bar has been chosen, but he assumes its close proximity to Starfleet's staff accommodation was its major appeal. It certainly wasn't the quality of the drinks Malcolm thinks sourly, settling for an overpriced scotch that burns unpleasantly down his throat.

He wouldn't be here at all, but he'd had a meeting with Captain Archer earlier in the day and the man had politely, but firmly, suggested that Malcolm take the opportunity to meet some of the crew informally. Drinks had been arranged at a local venue he'd said and Malcolm hadn't known how to refuse. Privately he's scoffed at the invitation. His upbringing had not accustomed him to such fraternisation and he generally felt uncomfortable at social gatherings.

Much later, in the occasional mad moment, he'll think that it might well have been fate.

Malcolm spies a table in a gloomy corner, with a few faces that look familiar from the crew list he had scanned earlier in the day. He approaches the table somewhat reluctantly and the various conversations phase at his arrival. He immediately recognises the tanned features of Enterprise's chief engineer and the man rises from his seat, stretching out a large, calloused hand in greeting.

"Hey there, Malcolm, right?"

His southern drawl is warm and friendly, but Malcolm feels himself bristling slightly at the familiarity, even as he takes the preferred hand and shakes it.

"Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, Sir."

His tone is crisp and formal, prompting a booming laugh from the other man, who ushers him towards a vacant seat.

"Easy there Malcolm," he says, seemingly oblivious to the irritated crease of eyebrows it elicits, "we're not on duty yet. Trip will do just fine."

Malcolm takes a seat on the uncomfortable stool, already feeling off-balance at his superior's casual manner. The other occupants of the table murmur their own greetings before resuming their conversations, and Malcolm is left to observe the occupant of the seat next to him. He cannot remember her name, but there aren't many red-headed crew members and he recognises her as one of Commander Tucker's engineering team. She's hiding it well, but he observes that she is equally ill at ease, listening detachedly to the voices around her, fingers tapping rhythmically against a glass that appears to contain a spirit similar to his own. Her sleeveless shirt reveals pale arms covered in an intricate pattern of tattoos. She meets his gaze, as if she feels his eyes on her and graces him with a cool smile.

"Lieutenant Zephram Turner, engineering" she says and Malcolm is momentarily taken aback by the English accent.

"I thought I was going to be the only Brit aboard," he says with a quirk of his lips and she nods in agreement.

"So did I."

She's silent for a moment and then turns to look at him again.

"You're the Armoury Officer I believe?" she asks and he inclines his head in confirmation.

"Tactical Officer as well."

He's boasting a little, still proud to have been selected for Enterprise, but if she notices she doesn't choose to acknowledge it. Instead she gives him an unreadable look, which eventually breaks into another cool smile.

"I thought you looked like a military man."

He's unsure what she means by saying that, but decides to take it at face value.

"Navy family," he says, "but I'm somewhat of a black sheep I'm afraid."

He keeps his tone deliberately light but she doesn't laugh along, instead giving him an unexpected look that suggests she understands all the things he has left unsaid. She says nothing more about it and they both make polite small talk with other members of the group, although it doesn't come naturally to Malcolm and he finds the effort draining.

Commander Tucker in particular continues to rub him up the wrong way, asking all kinds of questions that he has no desire to answer and struggles to deflect gracefully. He feels a swell of irritation at the other man, who seems determined to make him look foolish. 

As if sensing his distress, Zephram makes a show of getting up to leave, pleading an early start the next morning, and gives Malcolm a pointed look. He recognises a good tactical retreat when he sees one and quickly gives the same excuse. A your ensign sitting across the other side of the table seizes the opportunity as well. The ensign disappears immediately once they are outside, but Zephram lingers for a moment, giving him a tiny smirk.

"Now that I've helped you escape, I'll bugger off and leave you in peace," she says, and it's so perfectly British that it has Malcolm smiling properly for the first time all day.

He asks where she's going, deciding that he'll offer to walk her home if they are heading the same way. They are and so he makes the offer, only slightly awkwardly, which she chooses to accept. They walk together down the main road, towards the staff accommodation, in silence for a few minutes before Malcolm breaks it to ask a question he's been pondering ever since she introduced herself.

"Forgive me if I'm being rude, but Zephram is an unusual name..."

"For an English woman?" she finishes wryly and he tilts his head in acknowledgement. 

"Yes, well my father was an engineer," she says, "he was determined to have a son and name him after Zefram Cochrane. He changed the spelling to 'ph' out of sheer spite I think." She meets his gaze with a teasing expression.

"And there you were thinking you were the biggest disappointment just for joining Starfleet."

Suddenly Malcolm understands the look she had given him earlier. They have more in common than just a British accent. Too soon they reach the Starfleet accommodation and Zephram bids him goodnight, disappearing around the side of one of the tall, glass buildings.

Malcolm continues to his own small apartment. It's neat but spartan, containing only the essentials. Every personal possession he isn't taking aboard Enterprise, and it hadn't amounted to much when he packed it, has been put into storage. While he spends the next five years in space, his home, if he can even really call it that, will be rented out to strangers.

When he sleeps later that night, he dreams of England and his father for the first time in years.

* * *

The second time he sees Zephram, he's on his way home from yet another pre-launch briefing at HQ.

Later he won't be able to say why he took the shortcut through a dodgy looking back alley, something he had never done previously, and will only be able to attribute it to the same fate he's determined he doesn't believe in.

Zephram is backed against the wall, facing down two men almost twice her size. Her face is dripping with blood, but she's still holding her own and the sight takes his breath away. She's fierce, feral, snarling with rage and Malcolm thinks he's never seen anything so stunning in his life.

He moves quietly and taps one of the men on the shoulder, who spins around startled, straight into Malcolm's fist. It's a well aimed blow and the man staggers back into his companion, catching him off guard and sending them both to the ground in a furious tangle of heavy limbs. Zephram wastes no time in taking the opening he's given her and darts towards him, past the men who are staggering back to their feet. They are angry, but evidently decide they don't like the odds of this new fight, slinking off down the alley with a few vulgar curses tossed their way.

She thanks him and Malcolm takes her back to his apartment, where he still has some basic medical supplies, because she refuses to go to the hospital.

Once the blood is washed away, he can see the splits in her lip and eyebrow. He cleans them both and bathes her bruised knuckles, while she watches with eyes that he now realises are grey. It's another little way they match and he files that information away in his memory, although he doesn't really know why he finds it so important.

Her hands are still shaking from the adrenaline when Malcolm decides to open the bottle of whiskey he's been saving for a special occasion, because really, he can't think of anything more deserving than this.

Only when they both have a drink does her ask why. She seems perturbed by his question and it's some time before she speaks, as if she's weighing up what to tell him or trying to avoid the matter altogether. Then she looks him dead in the eye.

"I'm done being afraid of men like that."

He waits without asking further questions, because her tone is so bitter that instinctively he knows something is cutting deep, that this is so much bigger than one scrap in a seedy back alley.

She just stares into her now empty glass and the atmosphere in his small sitting room is heavy with the weight of all the words she isn't saying. Malcolm doesn't know what else to do so he pours more whiskey into their glasses and they drink in silence.

Perhaps she gets tired of it, or perhaps the alcohol is starting to have an effect, because she begins to speak. It's quiet and slow, like every word is being dragged out of her, and sometimes he has to strain to catch what she's saying, but the picture begins to build clearly enough.

She tells him about her father, who has never forgiven her for being born a girl, and growing up never feeling good enough. She tells him how she tried to find that somewhere else, and Malcolm remembers all the women he's taken to bed just to feel like someone wants him around and it's suddenly so _obvious_ in a way it never has been before. She tells him about all the men who saw a vulnerable girl, who felt like nobody loved her, and took exactly what they wanted. She tells him about the raised voices and the raised hands. About scars that can't be seen, under the skin of a body that doesn't feel like it belongs to her anymore.

She says all this and she doesn't cry, just looks at the floor, or the wall, and when she's done she drains her glass in one big swallow as if it can somehow wash it all away. Malcolm fills it again and wishes he knew what to say in the face of so much pain. He is not one to open up to other people and so it's an unfamiliar feeling to see so much of someone else laid bare like this, but he's aware that he has been granted a unique privilege.

He looks at Lieutenant Zephram Turner, beaten and bruised on his couch, and knows he's looking at someone who doesn't know how to do anything but survive. Even if he'd understood nothing else, he would have understood that.

He doesn't have the words to tell her, so instead he finds himself telling her that he's been a disappointment to his father for as long as he can remember. Always too small and skinny, never shaking his terror of the water, despite his father's every effort. He tells her about all the meaningless nights with people whose faces he struggles to remember. He looks in her eyes and for once he doesn't see his own judgements of himself reflected there.

They finish the whiskey and Zephram falls asleep on the couch. By the time he wakes the next morning, head pounding and sick to his stomach, she's already gone.

He doesn't see her again until the next week and even then it's only in passing, because it's launch day and everyone is run off their feet, but she spares him a brief smile. She finds him in the mess hall a few days later, hunched over a report in the corner. He's been working late, getting everything in the armoury exactly as he wants it, and has come to see what he can scrounge of the day's leftovers before heading to bed. She takes the seat opposite him without a word and seems content just to sit, so he finishes the rather dry sandwiches and is halfway through a cup of tea before they speak at all.

"How's life in the armoury?" she asks eventually and Malcolm shrugs a little and pushes the report to one side.

"Fine. We've had some teething problems, but nothing we couldn't straighten out. How's engineering?"

"Dad would give his right arm to get within a mile of Enterprise's engine room."

He can't tell from her tone if she's being flippant or not, so he just looks at her until she gives him a searching look and suddenly changes the subject completely.

"I never got a chance to say I was sorry for my behaviour that night" she says, now with a carefully neutral expression and Malcolm doesn't have to ask what she's referring to.

"I'm grateful to you for patching me up but you didn't need to hear all that."

Malcolm isn't good at this sort of thing and normally he would shy away from any kind of closeness, but there's something about whatever is building between him and Zephram that feels like it deserves something more than that. Grey eyes meet and Malcolm holds her gaze steadily.

"It was no trouble," he says, and then, "I don't make a habit of telling people about my private life either."

She nods and they don't say anything else, both departing shortly after to their separate quarters, but Malcolm feels a shift in their relationship after that. They've both acknowledged, even if unspoken, the understanding between them.

They spend time together whenever they're not busy, usually working out or sparring in the gym. Partly to keep themselves in shape and partly because nothing takes the edge off the frustrations of the day better than pushing their bodies to the limit. Zephram is good in close combat, but Malcolm knows she could be better and he takes it upon himself to train her, because if she's going to insist on getting into back alley fights then he's going to make damn sure she wins them.

She takes to calling him Limey when it's just the two of them and while Malcolm has never been a fan of nicknames, he takes it from her. After a while he begins to shorten her name to Zeph, which she admits she prefers, although he notices that no-one else ever calls her that. The relationship progresses without them ever really addressing anything out loud and later Malcolm won't be entirely sure when it stopped being strictly platonic.

They're both private people and so it comes naturally to them not to advertise it. If anyone mentions that Zephram often disappears after Enterprise has run into trouble again, when Malcolm is coming down from yet another fight, it never reaches their ears.

After the skirmish on the mining colony, Zephram comes to find him in his quarters. Malcolm is filthy and exhausted, his hands shaking so badly from the adrenaline still flooding his body that he can barely undo the fastenings on his clothes and boots. Zephram takes over with practiced ease and her fingers are rough and calloused against his skin, but Malcolm wouldn't have it any other way. He closes his eyes and savours the feeling, just for a moment, before her hands are moving elsewhere and it becomes the last coherant thought he has for some time.

* * *

Looking back, Malcolm isn't really sure where the problem with Ensign Taylor begins. A fellow member of the engineering team, he initially thinks it might just be a healthy dose of old-fashioned sexism, but Taylor doesn't seem to hold Lieutenant Hess in the same contempt. Trip likes to keep things reasonably informal with his staff, but the atmosphere in engineering becomes so bad that eventually he is forced to pull rank, threatening the younger man with a spell in the brig for insubordination if he doesn't learn to treat his superiors with respect. 

On the surface things appear to improve, but Malcolm sees enough to know that Taylor has simply become more subtle in his efforts to antagonise her. He knows Trip is equally concerned, but Zephram refuses to lodge an official complaint with Captain Archer, and so it's gone no further than several frustrated mess hall conversations between Trip and him.

He has exaxtly one conversation with Zephram about it, which ends in a black eye that he excuses first to Archer, and later Phlox, as an accident in sparring practice. He learns not to pressure her to talk after that and while she doesn't apologise outright, she doesn't stop coming to his quarters either.

He hears nothing more from Zephram or Trip on the subject for several weeks and then Hayes instigates new training exercises for the crew.

Malcolm arrives at the gym, already tired from a long day and realises that Zephram and Taylor are both there for sparring practice. Hayes has paired them up, somehow oblivious to the animosity that's so thick between them it could be cut with a knife, and the look in Taylor's eye fills Malcolm with foreboding. He knows already this isn't going to end well.

Malcolm stands next to Hayes and tries to look like he's paying attention to all the other sparring pairs, but he never takes his eye off Zephram. She's good, easily better than Taylor, and Malcolm can see the other man is becoming increasingly riled up. When he snaps, what happens is even worse than he imagined.

Taylor unleashes a brutal kick aimed at Zephram's throat. It's completely against regulations and it takes her by surprise, her arms going up instinctively to protect herself, but it's a messy block that knocks her off balance. She rights herself and Malcolm feels the breath catch in his throat because there's _murder_ in her eyes. Taylor is still smirking, unprepared when Zephram kicks him down to the ground, hard. She's on top of him straight away, pounding her fists into his face and now the other occupants of the gym are frozen in shock.

Malcolm knows he's already waited too long to intervene, that he'll struggle to explain this to the captain, but Taylor has been goading her for months and he just can't bring himself to stop her.

Hayes rushes to break it up, hauling her back by the shoulders and Malcolm sees the swing that's coming at his jaw even before he does. That snaps him into action and he launches forward, dragging her away from Hayes and pulling her tight against his body, her hands clinging desperately to his arms.

"Zeph, it's alright. I've got you, I've got you."

He keeps repeating it, and everyone is staring now in a way that gives him the crushing feeling that he has fallen down in his unspoken promise to her. This most vulnerable, troubled part of Zephram was never meant to be seen by anyone except Malcolm. She trusted him to protect it, with the ferocity he protects them all, and he's just failed. Her breath is coming out in harsh sobs and he feels the weight of her slump against his chest. He pulls her arm around his shoulder and half carries her over to a bench at the side of the room.

Hayes is looking at him with an odd gleam in his eyes and as much as he wants to take her away from all the appalled and curious stares, Malcolm knows he needs to get the situation under control. He comms Phlox, telling him there's been an accident during sparring practice, and sends a now subdued Taylor off to get patched up. He dismisses the others, but gestures for Hayes to wait, which he does. There's no chance of simply brushing this off and Malcolm knows the best chance they have is to be honest. 

Zephram seems in no state to give an explanation and so Malcolm does instead, ignoring the mutinous glare he knows is boring into his back. He tries to make it as painless as possible, pulling Hayes out of her hearing range and giving him a matter of fact outline of her past and the present difficulties with Ensign Taylor. He catches a flash of sympathy in the other man's face and then Hayes sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.

"We'll have to inform Captain Archer."

He sounds almost regretful and Malcolm acknowledges it with a tilt of his head.

"I'll speak to him," he says, because really this is all his fault, and Hayes accepts with a nod.

He pauses on his way to leave the room and seems as if he's going to say something else, but then he goes to Zephram and puts a hand on her shoulder, just for a moment before he leaves and they are alone. She raises her head and even through the residual anger, he can see the first glimpses of guilt slipping in. He knows it's nothing to do with the man currently in sick bay and everything to do with the position she's put him in.

He comms Archer and asks to see him as soon as he's available. He has 15 minutes before he has to be in his ready room and so he takes advantage of the time to help Zephram back to her quarters. She collapses on to her bunk and turns to face the wall. Malcolm leaves without bothering to try and talk. He doesn't think there would be much point.

Archer is clearly already in a bad mood when Malcolm enters the ready room and it doesn't improve when he explains the incident in the gym. Malcolm pleads stress and frayed tempers among the crew, though God knows he would happily throw Taylor under the bus, and Archer does at least pause in the expression of his displeasure to acknowledge the strain they've all been under.

In the end he gives both Zephram and Taylor a stern warning, reminding her of the self-control expected of an officer and the him of the penalties for assaulting a superior. Zephram seems largely unfazed by the dressing down, but he notices that Taylor now looks at them both with undisguised venom. He's staying quiet for now though and Malcolm thinks it's really the best they can hope for under the circumstances.

The rumours about him and Zephram spread like wildfire and he's aware of himself attracting stares and whispers in the mess hall. He's eating with Trip when the other man suddenly puts his fork down and gives him a serious look.

"So. You and Lieutenant Turner," he begins but Malcolm cuts him off with a glare.

"I'm not aware that we're in breach of any regulations Commander."

He knows he's being petty and difficult, the look Trip gives him alone would be enough to tell him that, but he's still a little sore that the intricacies of their private lives have been reduced to shipwide speculation.

"That little scene in the gym-"

"Has been dealt with." Malcolm spits out and Trip sighs and raises his hands in defeat.

"Fine. But just be careful."

He looks at Malcolm in a reproachful way that says he's just concerned about him and Malcolm feels himself soften, in spite of his wounded pride. Trip must see something of it in his face because his next words are spoken softly.

"Turner's a damn good engineer and I'm real glad to have her...but that right hook's gonna get someone killed."

He's deliberately exaggerating, trying to make a joke of his warning, but Malcolm takes the point all the same. Trip seems satisfied that he's said his piece, changing the subject to work and Malcolm feels himself relax a little. They've come a long way from their first meeting, but he still feels uncomfortable whenever Trip tries to get involved in the more personal aspects of his life. He's just too accustomed to dealing with such things alone.

* * *

Malcolm hears the dull thud of fists against fabric before he even enters the gym. He stops in the doorway and cool grey eyes take in the scene before him.

Zephram is breathing heavily with exersion, the muscles of her back rippling with the effort of driving her fists into the blue bag over and over. He doesn't need to see her face, to know it will be tight with suppressed anger. She pauses and steps back for a moment, perhaps to catch her breath, and Malcolm takes the opportunity to make his presence known.

"You'll have the bloody thing off the ceiling if you carry on like that."

There's a trace of fondness behind the sarcasm and when she turns to face him its with a small, tired smile. He steps properly into the room, coming to rest at her side, his upper arm pressed lightly against hers in silent reassurance.

"Your form is improving," he says conversationally and that gets a real smile in response.

"I was about to practice myself," he glances across at her, "if you'd like a sparring partner."

He knows there will be a reason Zephram was pounding the bag as if it had personally insulted her. He also knows that she's stubborn, just like him. If he asks outright, he'll get nothing more than a flippant quip. This trading of blows, like so many other little rituals that have built between them, is simply a necessary means to an end. Zephram will never let anyone see her vulnerabilities until she's proven her strengths first.

Malcolm throws the first punch, and really he's barely trying, Zephram blocking it easily. She raises an eyebrow at him.

"Christ Limey, my grandmother punches harder than that."

She's goading him slightly and he rises to it, his next attempt coming faster and harder. She's just as swift in her defence, concentrating now, her face impassive. It's Malcolm who lands the first blow, and despite all his training he winces instinctively at the sound of his fist hitting her jaw. She stumbles a little, but recovers quickly, pushing back and landing her own blow to his stomach. She has none of his qualms, a victorious smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Malcolm thinks she's beautiful like this, limbs shining with sweat under the harsh light of the gym, body tense and coiled, waiting for the opportunity to strike. Trip always says she should wear her hair loose, saying it makes her face look softer, but Malcolm prefers it braided up as it is now. It reveals the high cheekbones and strong, defiant jaw. Whenever Trip tugs playfully at the ties in her hair, Malcolm feels his blood boil and fights down the urge to tear his superior's hand away, because they might be friends but her softness belongs to him. It was hard-earned and he's possessive about it. Zephram laughs at Trip's antics, and swats him off, but afterwards Malcolm will feel her gaze burn into him.

Even if it's never said out loud, she _knows._ Later one of them will come to the other's quarters and her eyes will burn with something completely different.

A sharp jab at his chest brings him back to awareness with a start and he realises she's smirking properly now.

"I thought you wanted to pratice?" she teases and he responds with a rapid combination that catches her by surprise.

She goes to block him slightly too late and in a moment she's on the ground, looking up at him with an unreadable expression. He pulls her back onto her feet and they circle each other, trading moves and countermoves, but Malcolm senses a change in the atmosphere. He is unsurprised when she suddenly sighs, hands dropping to rest at her sides.

"My quarters are closest."

He says it neutrally, even now he doesn't want to put pressure on her, he knows from experience it won't get him anywhere. She follows him silently down the corridors, seemingly lost in thought, but Malcolm knows her well enough to notice her eyes watching their surroundings carefully.

Tonight they are lucky and they pass unseen by any of the crew. Their relationship might not be exactly a secret anymore, but they aren't keen on fuelling wagging tounges either. In the sanctuary of his quarters, Zephram relaxes and her shoulders slump forwards. She sits carefully on the edge of his bunk and perched there looks suddenly very small in a way that Malcolm knows only he is ever allowed to see. In spite of his concern, he feels a certain pride.

He leans against the desk, watching her in silence. He's always been a patient man and he's content to wait until she's ready to tell him what's bothering her She stares at the floor between her feet for a few long moments before she raises her eyes to his.

"I had a run-in with Taylor again."

It's barely more than a whisper but he hears it anyway and snorts derisively, because apparently two black eyes still wasn't enough for the man to damn well _learn_.

"I assume you gave him what for?"

Taylor takes any opportunity to make it clear he hates her guts, but Malcolm senses there is something unique about this particular spat.

"He implied I was trying to sleep my way up."

He can see what it costs her to admit it in the tight set of her jaw and the way she avoids his eyes again.

"Fuck that."

Malcolm's voice is harsh and he's rarely so foul-mouthed, startling Zephram enough that she meets his eyes again. For a moment he has a vivid image of shoving Taylor up against the nearest wall and choking the life out of him, which he pushes away with some difficulty. They aren't exactly sweet with each other, because that's never been what either of them want, but they have each other's back always.

After his spat with Hayes, Zephram had cornered the other man in Malcolm's office, voice cold with rage, telling him she'd kill him if he ever put a hand on him again. Luckily Hayes had chosen to ignore her display, perhaps embarrassed it had happened at all, but he's reasonably sure that Taylor would take great pleasure in running straight to the Captain if he did anything similar.

He's furious, blood pounding between his ears, because he knows why it hurts so much He remembers everything she told him that night, in his small apartment in San Francisco, drunk and still coming down from a fight. She will never admit it, even here where he knows she feels safe, but Malcolm sees how many of her wounds still haven't healed. He sees the bad days she works so hard to hide from everyone else, the days where she barely speaks and the look in her eyes is somewhere very far away. She's never openly admitted it, but he knows there's a bottle of whiskey in the locker in her quarters, that she drinks at night when the memories become unbearable.

"The next time he opens his mouth I'm going to toss him out of an airlock."

His tone is laced with venom, and it raises the ghost of a smile.

"You'd get no argument from me."

There's a thread of bitterness poorly hidden under her attempt at humour and Malcolm feels a tightness in his chest. Behind her bravado, Taylor is just another in a long line of men who have gotten away with abusing her and he feels powerless to do anything about it.

"You could report it to Captain Archer?" he says hesitantly, because that is not the way that either of them like to handle things and is unsurprised when she dismisses it with a look that asks him if he's really that stupid.

"You want another black eye Limey?"

It's a hollow threat, a further half-hearted attempt to make light of her problems, but he decides not to push his luck anyway. Instead he joins her on the bed and rests a hand against the base of her skull. She leans back into it slightly, closing her eyes, and they stay like that for a few moments before she turns to look at him again.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He pulls her down with him into the bed and they don't talk for the rest of the night.

* * *

Malcolm is exhausted. It's been a nightmare of a day in which everything possible has gone wrong, and he stalks back to his quarters with a face so thunderous that everyone he passes shrinks away from him nervously. He's half expecting Zephram to already be there waiting for him, she'd just raised an eyebrow when she saw him in the mess hall earlier, but his quarters are empty.  
  
He decides to change into his gym clothes before going to find her, and when he gets to her quarters just punches in the code. They've been letting themselves in for long enough. He finds her sprawled at the desk, clutching the now half-empty bottle of whiskey from her locker. It doesn't look any emptier than the last time he saw it and so he doesn't think she's actually got around to drinking any yet. Sure enough, when she meets his eyes her gaze is still clear and alert and he slips the bottle from her fingers.

"What are we celebrating?"

She snorts humourlessly and Malcolm can see it's one of _those_ days. She's rarely ever in the mood to talk about it and Malcolm doesn't have the patience to pry it out of her tonight, so they go to the gym instead. 

Despite his draining shift and her dark mood, they're both on good form and Malcolm feels the familiar thrill at the exchange of blows between them. Zephram has gotten fast and he finds himself having to work hard to keep his advantage. She feints to the side and he falls for it, and she follows it up with the fastest combination he's ever seen from her. He lands on his back on the mat and his surprise makes him slow to react. She settles her weight across his hips and pins his arms to the ground, looking down at him with a grin.

"You're getting slow."  
  
Malcolm looks at her and doesn't see the familiar smirk of victory he's expecting. Above him her face is open and happy for the first time in weeks. She releases her grip on his arms and he buries a possessive hand in her hair, fingers curling around the back of her neck. He's about to pull her down to him when he suddenly catches sight of the captain, reflected in the mirror. He's standing in the doorway, watching them with an odd expression on his face, and Malcolm realises he has no idea how long the other man has been there. They both scramble to their feet, Zephram seemingly unconcerned at the turn of events.

"I think you need a new head of security Sir," she says with a grin, "this one's rubbish."

Archer returns her smile, although it appears somewhat insincere and ignores her comment, turning instead to speak to Malcolm.

"I was hoping to have a word, Lieutenant."

Zephram takes the cue to leave, telling Malcolm she'll see him later and disappearing quickly.

"Walk with me?" Archer says, in a tone that leaves no room for refusal, and Malcolm senses that whatever is about to be said isn't official business, nor is it likely to be good.

They walk in silence for a while, Archer frowning, but eventually he turns his head to meet Malcolm's gaze.

"In some ways I envy you, Malcolm."

He is unsure how to respond to such an admission from the other man. Malcolm realises for the first time how lonely it must be for Archer, charged with the gruelling weight of saving an entire planet, but always forced to remain detached from the people around him. So many among the crew have someone else to share their burden, even Trip and T'Pol have each other to lean on. Archer is uniquely alone.  
  
"This is off the record." Archer says and he nods in acknowledgement, his suspicions confirmed.  
"For now."

He looks sharply at Archer whose face is drawn tight.

"Commander Tucker has expressed some concern about Lieutenant Turner. Specifically regarding her emotional stability."

They're already on dangerous ground and Malcolm feels his chest tighten, but he keeps his voice level.

"With all due respect Sir, why speak to me about this?"  
  
"You told me the incident in the gym was nothing more than an idiotic scuffle between a couple of crew-members suffering from a bit of stress."

His voice is deceptively soft, but Malcolm can hear the menace in it all the same. Archer stops and turns to face him and the look he gives him is like ice.

"I need you to look me in the eye and tell me that whatever is going on between you isn't clouding your judgement, _Lieutenant Reed_."

He moves closer and Malcolm steps back automatically, realising as he does the Captain has backed him up against the wall. He leans in close until his mouth is inches from Malcolm's ear.

"Think very carefully before you lie to me."  
  
"I'm not aware that any personal feelings are affecting my performance of my duty, Sir."

He forces himself to look Archer in the eye and is careful not to let his tone betray the sick feeling in his stomach. Archer straightens back up but he doesn't move away, keeping Malcolm trapped. Someone comes around the corner and Archer immediately steps back.

"Dismissed, Lieutenant."

The words are little more than a whisper. It takes all of Malcolm's self control not to run. He makes his way to his quarters, finding Zephram waiting for him, still in her gym clothes. She takes one look at his face, grim with fear, and wordlessly hands him the bottle of whiskey she must have fetched from her cabin while he was busy with the captain. He takes a long slug, wincing slightly at the burn and then takes another before returning it.

"You want to tell me why you look like you're about to be taken out and shot?"

He sinks into the chair, turning his back on her and leans on the desk, burying his face in his hands.

"Fucking hell Malcolm, is it that bad?"

He hears the undercurrent of fear in her voice and turns reluctantly to face her. She's sitting on the edge of the bunk and gripping the edge so hard her knuckles are white.  
  
"He knows about us."

Zephram snorts and the tension drops out of her shoulders.

"Well so does everyone else! The rumours spread that fast I'd be concerned if he didn't know. Besides we're not breaking any regulations!"

She sounds irritated now. Malcolm gives her a hard look and she raises her eyebrows at him, but she stops her protest.

"He knows I was lying to him about the fight, Zeph. He says Trip has ' _concerns about your emotional stability_ '."

His voice begins to raise at these last words and she jerks back as if he's slapped her. For a few long moments she stares at her lap, refusing to meet his eyes.  
  
"I'm fine."

She raises her head and Malcolm feels a sudden flush of rage at the defiant set of her jaw.

"You know how strained things have been since the MACO unit came aboard Zeph! I cannot afford to give Captain Archer a single reason to doubt me."

He's shouting properly now, too angry to care about who might hear them through the cabin walls.

"And now he's just asked me if my judgement is being clouded. He's questioning my professional integrity, he's questioning whether I'm fit to do my bloody job! Because of you!"

He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth, but it's too late to take them back. He sees a myriad of emotions flicker across her face before it goes completely blank. She picks up the bottle of whiskey from the desk and moves as if to leave the room. She pauses at the door and he thinks she's going to say something but instead she suddenly turns and hurls the bottle at the wall above his head.

It shatters, showering him in whiskey and broken glass and all he can do is gape at her in shock. She slams her fist onto the keypad and the door slides open, and she leaves without even looking at him. Malcolm clears up the mess as best he can, before discarding his alcohol- soaked clothing and crawling into bed.

It's a long time before sleep comes.

* * *

It's a full week before he sees her again. She doesn't come to find him after their shifts end and he doesn't bother trying to seek her out. The morning after their argument he has to go to Phlox because the cuts on his hands make it too difficult to do the delicate work he's attempting. He blames it on his own clumsiness and the alien doesn't seem to suspect he's lying.

Eventually he needs some assistance from engineering and Trip is too busy to come himself, so he sends Zephram instead. He explains the issue to her and they work mostly in silence, only speaking when absolutely necessary. Malcolm's team give them a few odd looks, but nobody says anything. 

Zephram leaves as soon as they're done and Malcolm, now in a terrible mood, holes himself up in his office just to avoid having to speak to anyone. He gets more paperwork done that day than he has in the previous week and by the time his shift is finished, he is completely up to date with everything.

He joins Hoshi and Travis in the mess hall who ask him in hushed and meaningful tones if everything is alright. Zephram is sitting with Trip across the other side of the room and Malcolm realises their recent interactions are already doing the rounds and finds he's lost his appetite. He excuses himself with barely concealed irritation and feels a stab of guilt when the two junior officers exchange worried looks. 

He goes to his quarters and tries to read, but tosses the book away crossly after the third time he's read the same sentence. He gets changed and goes to the gym because he can't think of anything else to do and runs into Zephram, who is sparring with Hayes. She doesn't notice him enter the room, although Malcolm notes it doesn't escape Hayes, but the other man chooses not to draw attention to it. He watches them move together, and despite his foul mood feels a small flash of pride when she manages to land some of her punches.

Hayes calls a halt to their session and excuses himself, and it's only then that Zephram notices he has been watching them. Malcolm expects her to walk out again, but she joins him on the bench leaning back against the wall.

"It was a waste of good whiskey you know," he says, because he can't think of anything else and he sees her jaw tighten momentarily before her shoulders slump and she turns to him with a weak smile.

"It wasn't my finest moment," she agrees and he lets his leg press against hers.

"What I said-" She cuts him off, suddenly tense again.

"Can we just forget it Malcolm? Please?"

She allows herself to relax a little at his agreement and moves to leave the gym. She glances back over her shoulder at him and doesn't stop him when he follows her back to her quarters.

Afterwards he sleeps better than he has in days.

The end, when it comes, is predictably explosive. Malcolm thinks afterwards that he had probably always known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this would happen. The path leading them here was set before they even met, the inevitable outcome simply waiting for them to catch up.

The crew is overworked, tired and stressed. Unable to self-medicate with alcohol, Zephram is spiralling, her moods increasingly unstable and unpredictable. Malcolm watches in despair as even his attempts to reach her become largely unsuccessful. They still train and sleep together, but she stops bothering to come to the mess hall at all and he notices her losing weight, the dark circles under her eyes growing bigger every day. Her mind often seems to be somewhere else entirely.

They are sparring in the gym and Zephram is unusually vicious, punching hard and barely giving him a pause between her attacks. Taylor enters the gym with another young Ensign and they stop at the side of the mat to watch. Malcolm feels uneasy, especially when the set of her jaw becomes even tighter and finds himself praying that Taylor will leave. He has no such luck and Malcolm can see him muttering to the other officer who looks at him with wide eyes.

"Lieutenant Reed, Sir," he calls out with a smirk, "are you sure you should be doing that with someone so... _emotionally unstable_? I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"That's enough Ensign Turner," Malcolm barks out, and wonders how Taylor even knows about that.

Zephram pauses and turns to look at him, her tone when she speaks is surprisingly even.

"Two black eyes not enough for you Taylor?"

"Is that a threat Lieutenant Turner?" Taylor says softly with a malicious smile. "I think I should really report that to the captain. Don't you agree, Sir?" The last part is addressed to him.

"I said that's enough Ensign. If you're not here to train, I suggest you find something more productive to do."

Sensing danger, the other ensign backs away towards the door.

"Come on Zach, lets just go," he says nervously and Ensign Taylor turns as if to leave. Malcolm breathes a sigh of relief, but then the other man turns back.

"You're right Sir, perhaps I'll head back to engineering," he says conversationally, "some of us have to earn our promotions around here."

He doesn't even have chance to turn back towards the door before the first blow lands. He's completely unprepared and even Hayes' extra training sessions don't save him. Her face is twisted and ugly with months of pent up rage and this is nothing like their fight in the training session. Taylor is on the ground, his face a mess of blood and he's screaming for Malcolm to get her off him. The other ensign has disappeared and Malcolm thinks distractedly that he's likely run to fetch help.

He knows he should intervene, but he doesn't stop her. He knows how much it takes for her to survive and how much pain she still carries with her every day. He needs her to know that she'll be ok, that she's strong enough now.

Ensign Taylor stops screaming, stops even moving and still Malcolm does nothing, because he needs her to know that no man is ever going to hurt her again.


End file.
